


Cool guy.

by simplysalty



Category: Megalo Box (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Eventual Smut, F/M, Getting Back Together, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teen Romance, a lot of this may or may not have been based off of purely his military jacket and name of choice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 20:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16456943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplysalty/pseuds/simplysalty
Summary: "hey, i...i know i said some real shitty things back then. and i'm sorry. i really am. and you have every right to hate me. it's a really stupid thing to ask, especially after everything that's happened, but could...could you wait for me a little longer? wait for me to make it all up to you, wait for me to be able to sweep you off your feet again. it's a lot to ask for, but please...i'll beg if i need to. just wait a bit more. i'll prove that i still love you."





	Cool guy.

        The wind was blowing hard that day, the sun just barely peeking its eyes over the crude skyline of run-down and aged buildings. Leaves stumbled their way down the street, dancing in small circles as the cloth of the faded awnings flapped, shooing away all the pigeons who desperately searched for a safe place to wait the morning out. Wincing as her hair slapped harshly against her eyes, Eliza turned against the tide of air, squinting as early-hours sunlight attempted to blind her.

        She held one of her hands in attempt to shield herself from the constant flow of air, the other securely holding onto the broom she had just been using to shoo away the leaves and dust from the doorstep of the small and modest shop. Though, Eliza no longer had to concern herself with her task as the wind had taken care of it for her. She hadn’t been anticipating a morning as violent as this -- if she had, she wouldn’t have gone outside without at the very least leggings beneath her knee-length dress.

        In an attempt to escape the angry torrent of morning air, Eliza hurried into the small haven that was the recessing entryway, the wooden door behind her serving a comforting brace to lean herself against. As she didn’t want to return to that familiar and boring scent of furs and old candles, Eliza found herself refusing to go back inside. Instead, she settled on taking the small stool that stood just beside the door and smoothing out her skirt as she sat down, placing the broom between her legs loosely. Still holding onto the handle, she leaned her head on it, ultimately feeling the cool glass of the window pressing against her temple.

        Eliza’s pale brown eyes swept over the slowly shrinking shadows of the streetlamps and uneven cobblestone bricks before settling on the storefront across the street, spotting a figure there, back leaning against the brick wall, also safe from the wind whipping by. Upon a slightly more detailed inspection, Eliza came to realize that it was a boy who was likely around her age. Dark olive faintly reflected the light, short and curled ebony hair framing the side of his face that she could see, a pair of blue-tinted goggles resting snugly on his forehead, keeping any of it from stinging at his closed eyes. His pale shirt was dirty and smeared with soot, his pants rolled up but also looking like they’d sustained some damage.

        Who was this boy? Eliza had gone outside at the same time of day for all the years of her life since she was able to hold a broom without dropping it, and she’d never seen him before. And though the goggles were somewhat familiar, the boy who wore them rung no bells at all. She blinked owlishly when he shifted slightly, tilting his head to the side and opening his eyes which quickly zeroed in on her own.

        Eliza stilled, feeling blood rush to her face as embarrassment at being caught staring ran through her system. She didn’t realize her grasp on her broom had tightened and she’d stopped leaning on the window until she moved them a little as she saw a lazy and amused smirk growing on the boy’s face. Awkwardly, she offered a smile in return, though hers was more nervous with a slight but very visible tint of warmth and friendliness. Looking a little surprised by this, his shoulders shook as he chuckled, breaths leaving him through his nose before turning to fully face her, leaning on the wall and waving a little.

        Still flushed, she shyly returned the gesture, unsure of how to respond to this whole situation at all, but appreciating he hadn’t gotten angry at her when he realized Eliza had been looking at him. The boy looked a little relieved too -- she didn’t miss how his bright brown eyes had flickered to her creaseless and pristine white waist apron, a stark contrast to his browned and filthy clothes. Was he from a poor family? That was the most likely answer, she realized, seeing as his clothes were from cheap brands that could be afforded by nearly anyone. It wasn’t a totally outlandish assumption to say he probably lived in the slums.

        Eliza, though, was part of the low middle class, with a family -- although about half had left for different and justified reasons -- and a job that she’d had to ditch high school for to make up for the absence of her father and older brother, who were never going to return. She always got up at an ungodly hour just to ready the shop so her mother and grandparents wouldn’t have to busy themselves with worrying over the state of all the goods inside, going as far as to skip meals for the sake of the business. She was sure it was visible in the slowly growing bags under her eyes and how frail she was when walking around, nearly collapsing whenever she stood too suddenly with a light limp due to a fractured ankle, and the stiffness of her muscles from sleeping at the counter on the first floor rather than her room on the second.

        She had been doing the same thing every morning, every week, every year for a long time, so meeting someone strange like this was an oddly welcomed experience. Eliza, trying to start some sort of conversation, pointed to the ground and tilted her head.

_Why are you here?_

        The boy blinked a few times, puzzled, before realizing what she was doing and shrugged, holding up his fists and punching at the air maybe thrice and she nodded a little to show she knew what he was saying.

_I’m here for a [megalo] boxing match._

        There was another awkward “silence” before the boy pointed at her and raised a brow in confusion.

_Why are you out here?_

        Eliza gestured upwards and his eyes followed, finding the sign of the store and reading it before crossing his arms, an unreadable glint flashing through his eyes, that lazy, closed-mouth smirk returning.

_I’m cleaning for when the shop opens._

        Her dark locks eventually stopped whipping back and forth, gradually dying down into a somewhat violent swaying before she tucked whatever she could behind her ears in an attempt to keep her young skin from being tickled.

        Feeling the current slowly begin to die down, Eliza stood with a light wince, stumbling a bit as the feeling of lightheadedness returned, leaning on her broom for stability. Though she didn’t see, the boy frowned as he watched her regain her composure and carefully step back onto the street. Rather than being hit with what could practically be a gale, she was met with a quick breeze, fluttering her dress and white apron, straight hair brushing against her neck and she relaxed, knowing she could get back to work.

        The boy got off the wall, putting one of his hands in his pocket and stepping onto the street as well. He began to walk away, noticing when her brown gaze focused on him once again and he waved at her once again, but this time in farewell. A light grin settled on his lips when he saw Eliza give a small and uncertain wave in return with a smile. But this time, the smile reached her eyes.

_See you later._


End file.
